


The Sheep in Wolves' Clothing Raid

by RKMacBride



Series: Rats and Foxes [3]
Category: The Rat Patrol
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Episode Related, Episode Style, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 04:49:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9863618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RKMacBride/pseuds/RKMacBride
Summary: This is a follow-on to The Decoy Raid. Someone else has managed to guess what really happened to Hauptsturmführer Wannsee, and is prepared to do anything to keep that information hidden.Meanwhile, the Rats are late for a rendezvous with a British agent carrying vital information and photographs with him. Can they find him in time?





	

_Niemand hat größere Liebe denn die, daß er sein Leben läßt für seine Freunde. (Johannes 15:13)_

_Greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friend. (John 15:13).  
_       

*********

            The polite term for their situation was ‘swanning about in the blue’.  It sounded as though one were barging around in the desert on purpose, to see what interesting things were there to see—but that wasn’t what it meant. 

            What it meant was that they were lost.  Entirely, completely lost.  There was no good way to determine either where they were, or which way to go.  “Any luck?”  Troy asked, watching Moffitt compare the horizon with the map with the compass.  This could have happened to anyone, and in fact did happen to a lot of units with surprising frequency; such was the price of waging war in a territory with few useful landmarks. 

            The tall English sergeant heaved a sigh of resignation.  “Not very much.  I’m afraid there’s nothing for it, but the obvious: head north.”  No matter where they had ended up after that last heated skirmish, north was always the way to the coast road.  He shrugged.   “Sorry, Troy.”

            “Forget it.  It’s not your fault we got chased thirty miles off course.”  He ground out his cigarette under his boot heel.  “Trouble is, if we go north far enough to get to the coast road, that puts us about a hundred fifty miles out of the way.  And five hours late for our rendezvous.” 

            “Well, we were headed west,” said Moffitt thoughtfully.  “The rendezvous point must still be west of us, surely.  It’s the north-south bit that I’m not sure of.”  Too far off in either direction would make them miss the rendezvous altogether.  “But if we keep going west, then we ought to hit something.”

            “Yeah, like a German scout column,” muttered Troy in disgust.  Some days, everything went right.  This wasn’t one of those days.

 *****

            Some distance away, a black staff car approached a German camp.  The sole occupant of the car checked his information.  According to what was scrawled on the map, this camp was the current location of one of the companies of 3rd Panzer Reconnaissance.  _That would do nicely,_ he reflected.  This particular company was commanded by one Hans Dietrich.  The name meant nothing to him; it was common enough, after all.  After locating the motor pool, he got out of the car and politely inquired the way to headquarters.  The motor pool sergeant paled and hastily directed him there. 

 *****

            Konrad Genscher leaned back in the creaky swivel chair and regarded his friend, who was on duty at the present.  “Where’s Herr Hauptmann?”

            “Gone to battalion HQ to meet with the paymaster, I think.  And then to see about requisitions.  He’ll be back in a while.  Why?” said Friedrich Arnheiter, the company clerk, without taking his eyes away from the copy that he was typing.

            “No reason, just wondered.  We get paid today, _ja_?”

            “Tomorrow, he said.  Remember, Konrad, you owe me money.  Don’t forget this time.”  Arnheiter made a face.

            “I paid you back last time!”

            “No, you didn’t.  You said you would, but then you ended up spending it in that place with the dancing girls,” his friend reminded him, in a tone half-teasing, half-serious.  “And you were so _besoffen_ that you didn’t even remember you’d spent it until two days later.  When I reminded you.”

            “All right, all right.  Enough.  The first thing I do, Fritz, I will give you back your five marks.”  He grinned, irrepressible as ever.  “And then we’ll go find some more dancing girls!”

            “Here?  Are you mad? There is nothing in this town but goats and goatherds.”  The blond young man wrinkled his nose.  “And they all smell bad.”

            “ _Du Esel!_ I didn’t say  here, did I? We’ll have to go where they are…”  They would not be the same girls, of course—but to Konrad, it didn’t matter overmuch.

            The two corporals’ amiable quarrel was interrupted when they heard the sharp sound of boots in the corridor; they knew from the sound that it was not Hauptmann Dietrich, nor was it _Oberleutnant_ Bergmann.   Presently a tall man with blue eyes and dark hair briskly entered the office, in a neat grey uniform adorned with the collar insignia of the SS. 

            “Which of you is the clerk?” he demanded.

            Arnheiter rose from his chair to face the strange officer.  “I am, _mein Herr_.”

            “Good.  Perhaps you would be so good as to tell me where I might find Hauptmann Dietrich?”

            The young corporal’s blood ran cold.  _So they’ve come for him at last...they must have found out somehow._   He stood there for a moment, taken aback, and then he knew what he had to do.  “No, sir.”

            “You mean that you do not know where he is?”  That would present a problem.

            Arnheiter swallowed hard before he replied.  “No, sir, I mean that I will not tell you.”

*****

            “The fellow you have to rendezvous with is in Intelligence,” the briefing officer, a Captain William Fallon, had explained to them.  “He’s a Scottish lieutenant, some sort of minor nobleman, I understand.”

            “What has that to do with the mission, sir?”  Troy had asked, confused. 

            “More than you’d think, Sergeant.  When you meet him, he’s to give you a password.  It’s the name of his clan chief’s castle.  Apparently it’s some sort of shibboleth—the ones who live there are the only ones who know how to say it.  It’s spelled I-n-v-e-r-a-r-a-y, but it doesn’t sound like that.  They say ‘Inverara’, like there was no ‘y’ on the end. Is that clear so far?”

            “OK.  Then what?”

            “If you have any doubts about him, any doubt at all, then ask him where that is.  If he’s the right man, he’ll answer ‘Argyll.’ It’s the county where that castle is.“

            “You mean like argyle socks?” Troy frowned.

            “Not quite.  That’s another shibboleth... the stress goes on the end, not the beginning.  It sounds like ‘our guile’, almost.”

            “And if he doesn’t answer correctly?” Moffitt had asked quietly.

            “Then do whatever you have to do.  He’s an impostor.”

 *****

            An awful silence descended over Dietrich’s office.  The handsome _Obersturmführer_ was thunderstruck.  “I shall pretend I did not hear that,” he said, his icy blue gaze pinning the fair-haired corporal like a butterfly on a board.  “I shall ask again—where is Hauptmann Dietrich?”

            Arnheiter’s face had gone pale and still.  His fists were knotted, white-knuckled, behind his back.  “I shall answer again, sir—I will not tell you.”

            Konrad stared from his best friend to the fearsome visitor, horrified.  What insane thing was Fritz doing?  Fritz was the shy one, the one that many of the older, harder men called ‘the rabbit’ behind his back.  And there he was, telling off an SS officer to his face?  It was sunstroke, it had to be—now if he could just get poor Fritz out of there before the foolish boy said something irreparable...

            The lean, spare officer stared back at this quietly defiant clerk, completely confounded by this turn of events.  “Do you realize what you are saying?” he said carefully, weighing each word.

            “Yes, sir. I do.”

            “I think you do not, Corporal.  I can have you taken out, now, and shot.”

            Arnheiter nodded, slowly, his heart pounding in his chest.  “Yes, sir, you can.  And still I will not tell you.”  _What happens to me doesn’t matter—if only Herr Hauptmann can get away._

            There had to be a way to make this young idiot see reason.  “Why should we go through all that for nothing?  Such a waste.  You seem to be a competent clerk.  It is very simple—tell me where your captain is, and I will transact my business with him.  Then I will proceed on my way, and I shall forget all about this...misunderstanding.  Now tell me where he is.  At once, or it will be very hard on you.”

            “ _Scheren Sie direkt zum Teufel...mein Herr_ ,” he added politely.

            That was the last straw.  The officer turned on his heel, and stuck his head out the door of the office.  _“Wache!”_ he shouted, summoning the guard.

            “ _Bist du verrückt gegangen_?” hissed Genscher.  “Have you lost your mind?”

            “Fool!” Arnheiter answered.  “Don’t just sit there like a cabbage... go find the captain!  Warn him!  I’ll stall this one as long as I can.”

            “Warn him of what?  What the devil is going on?”

            “I can’t tell you!  Just go! Hurry! _So schnell wie möglich!_ ”

            At that moment, the guards arrived, followed by the company’s second in command, _Oberleutnant_ Heinz Bergmann.  He stopped in mid-bluster, seeing the glacial wrath of the SS lieutenant standing in the middle of the office.  The question he had been about to ask remained unspoken, as he opened his mouth but no sound came out.

            The young _Obersturmführer_ , who had never yet introduced himself,  turned back to Arnheiter, coldly furious.  “I am not a brutal man, Corporal; I gave you a chance, I gave you several chances.  And yet, all for nothing, you have placed yourself in this very dangerous position.  But I will give you one more chance: obey me now, and I shall not call for a firing party.  Where is your commanding officer?” he demanded.

            Lieutenant Bergmann stared in dismay as the company clerk shook his head, resolute.  “Never.”

            That tore it.  The man from Berlin made a sharp gesture to the guards.  ”Away with him.”  He eyed the young clerk once more.  “You will suffer for this...make no mistake.”  He turned to Genscher, who had not been able to get out of the room when the guards came in.  “If you know where your captain is, and you are not such a fool as your friend here, I suggest you go and find him. At once.” 

            Konrad Genscher was not a fool.  Saluting in haste, he bolted from the office.

            _Very good_ , thought the officer to himself, as Bergmann left with the guards and the hapless clerk.  _Now there are no witnesses_.

 *****

            The Rat Patrol had continued steadily to the west, until they had come within sight of the high escarpment of Engedi, which was a known landmark for miles around.  Once they'd found that, it had been an easy matter to reorient themselves to their maps.  Now, all they needed to do was make it to their rendezvous on time.

 *****

            Konrad Genscher ran out of the headquarters building, and stood outside, panting.  What to do?  Arnheiter, normally a sensible fellow, had gotten himself arrested and placed under guard, and some mysterious officer of the SS was here looking for _Herr Hauptmann_.  The last thing Fritz had been able to say was that Konrad must go find the captain and warn him.  Yes, that was the thing to do.  Surely Hauptmann Dietrich would know how to untangle this inexplicable mess. 

            Now, where had the captain gone to?  To the paymaster, he knew, which meant the headquarters of 3rd Panzer Reconnaissance.  That would be about 40 miles away at present, on the road that eventually led to Mersa Matruh.  Genscher loped down the dusty path through the camp to the motor pool.  The sergeant in charge, by the name of Dorfmann, turned when the corporal came in.  "Oh, it's you, Genscher."

            " _Ja_ ," said the Bavarian coal miner's son, out of breath.  "I need to take out a motorcycle."

            "Whatever for?  Let's see your orders."

            Genscher shook his dark head.  "Haven't got any."

            "No orders, no motorcycle.  You know that.  It has to have the captain's signature, or Bergmann's, or Thierbach’s."

            "I need to take the motorcycle, Sergeant.  The SS officer wants someone to bring Herr Hauptmann to see him."

            "Oh."  The sergeant bit his lip and looked nervous.  "Well, all right.  But if you're making it up, and you don't come back with Herr Hauptmann, I'm putting you on report."

            "I promise, I'll go bring the captain back.  Arnheiter's in the guardhouse for not telling this officer where the captain is."  He had, however, told the man where to go in words of one syllable, but Genscher declined to mention that.

            "In the guardhouse?"  Dorfmann couldn’t believe his ears. “Fritzi, the pet rabbit?”

            "Yes.  And the officer wants to have him shot for disobedience.  Please hurry!"

            "Yes, yes, all right.  Sign here."  Genscher signed the paperwork, and the sergeant brought him a motorcycle without a sidecar.  "The tank's full, but don't waste it."

            "Thank you."  The young corporal got on and roared off into the desert, toward the road to Mersa Matruh.

 *****

            Dietrich had concluded his business at battalion HQ, and was having a welcome—and for once, hot— meal with a number of other officers in the mess tent.  "So, how are things in your company, Dietrich?" inquired a major by the name of Braun.

            "Well enough, sir," the captain replied.  "Fairly quiet.  The men are in good health, and at last I have a good clerk."

            "Indeed?  What sort of man is he?"

            "Intelligent.  And dependable."  Dietrich smiled.  "If he says he will do something, I know that it will be done."

            "You lucky dog," muttered another officer sourly.  "I have had three clerks in the last two months, and not one of them can file anything where it belongs.  The current one is the worst.  Once a document is in his hands, it might as well be in the sea, for it shall never be seen again.  And he can't remember any of the standing orders for two days running."  He shuddered.  "Don't ask me how he handles the wireless."

            Dietrich merely smiled.  He was fortunate and knew it.

            Their lunch was interrupted by a sergeant who entered the tent, and approached Dietrich with an air of urgency.  He saluted the officers present at the table, and begged the major's pardon.  "Hauptmann Dietrich," he explained, "a Corporal Genscher is here to find you, with a message.  He respectfully asks that you come."

            "Very well."  The captain excused himself from the table and went to see what had brought Genscher all the way here.  What could possibly be going on?

            Genscher was standing outside the tent beside a motorcycle; both man and machine were thoroughly covered with dust.   _"Was gibt es, Genscher?  Warum sind Sie—"_

            Breathless, the young soldier saluted.  "There is an SS lieutenant back at camp.  He wishes to see you, and sent me to bring you."

            Dietrich frowned.  "Did he say what his business was?"

            "No, _mein Herr_.  But he has arrested Arnheiter for insolence and refusal to obey orders... he intends to have him shot."

            "What?!"  This was impossible.  Insolence, disobedience… Arnheiter?  That wasn't just impossible—it was insane.  "There must be some mistake..." he began, appalled.

            Konrad Genscher shook his head, unhappily.  "No, Herr Hauptmann.  There was no mistake.  I was there, and I saw it.  The officer asked where you were, and Fritz refused to tell him," he explained, using the diminutive nickname for 'Friedrich'.  Dietrich did not correct him, and Genscher went on.  "The officer grew angry, but was still patient and asked again.  And Fritzi—that is, Arnheiter—refused again, and told him to hasten himself at once to the devil.  He said it very politely, but that is what he said."  He shook his head again.  "I don't know why, sir.  This lieutenant is SS, but he was polite enough, and not arrogant or rude.  But this made him angry, and he told Fritz that he would be punished.  And he said that it didn't matter, and the officer could do what he liked, but he would not tell the _Obersturmführer_ where you were."  He shrugged.  "And so when the officer sent me to find you, I did what he said."

            "Very good, Genscher, quite right."  Had Arnheiter suddenly gone mad?  What could possibly have gone through the young idiot's mind, to give an officer—any officer—such an answer?  "Wait a moment, I shall come at once."

            "Thank you, sir." Genscher breathed a sigh of relief.  Hopefully they would be in time to talk the lieutenant out of ordering a firing party.

         *****

            An hour later, they roared into the small town,  Dietrich driving the Kübelwagen and Genscher following him on the motorcycle. Sergeant Dorfmann in the motor pool looked impressed, as he realized that Genscher really had been serious about bringing the captain back and was not, this time, up to his usual monkey-tricks. 

            Dietrich got out of the Volkswagen and eyed the black staff car sitting ominously among several other vehicles painted in sand-tan.  Genscher had not been exaggerating, after all.  And apparently this mysterious _Obersturmführer_ had not already executed the company clerk and driven off into the sunset.  There might be a chance of unraveling this bizarre tangle of circumstances yet.  He returned the sergeant’s salute absently and hastened to his office to find out what in blazes was going on.

            The SS officer was still there, having seated himself in the desk chair and turned it around so he could gaze out the window.  When Dietrich entered, the other man rose calmly from the chair and turned to face the captain with a properly military salute.  Dietrich was momentarily nonplussed, but pleased by that.  “My name is Adelmann,” said the _Obersturmführer_.  His smooth straight hair, perfectly arranged, was black as any ace of spades, and his dark-blue eyes met the captain’s gaze with frankness and no hint of contempt or disdain.  “Good afternoon, _mein Herr_.”  His politeness seemed at odds with the unmistakable silver runes on his collar.

            “Good afternoon,” Dietrich answered.  “What may I do for you, Lieutenant? And what is this I have been told about my clerk?”

            “I came here originally to find out what has become of your position reports,” the younger officer explained.  “My superiors asked me to remind you that it is difficult for our Panzer battalion to support yours, when we are not kept apprised of your position.”

            “And these reports have not been made?”

            “It is my understanding that they have not been received, Captain,” he said with a slight hint of irritation.  “But if you will allow your clerk to be drunk on duty, one must expect a certain amount of incompetence on his part.”

            “I beg your pardon?”  ‘Incompetent’ was not a word anyone would think of applying to Arnheiter.  Nor was the phrase “drunk on duty”, for that matter.  What had been going on?

            “Your clerk is under guard for disobedience and insubordination.  I arrived to find you and ask you about these missing position reports, and he flatly refused either to bring you here or to tell me where you were.  Not only once, but several times, I ordered him and he refused; finally he told me, with great deference, to go to the devil.  It is true when a man is quite intoxicated, he is not entirely responsible for his actions, but that was inexcusable, Captain.”

            “Oh, certainly,” said Dietrich.  “I will deal with him appropriately, you may be sure.”

            “I warned him that he would be punished severely, you understand.  I have no choice in such a matter.”

            “No, none...”  Dietrich swallowed hard, wondering what the lieutenant had already done...and wondering what lunacy could have persuaded Arnheiter to hurl insults—however politely—at an officer of the SS.  “But he has never behaved in this way before.  It is quite unlike him to do so.”

            “Ah, well, then perhaps he really has only had too much to drink.  There might be room for leniency in this matter....”  He paused, thinking.  “I had intended to see to his punishment personally, but I had not thought I would be waiting for you for an hour.  Terribly inefficient when your own staff can’t find you, Captain.  But I trust that I can leave this matter in your hands, sir.”  He spoke lightly, but the intense gaze in his blue eyes reminded Dietrich of a cobra awaiting its chance to strike.

            “I will certainly see that it is done.”

            “Excellent.  I will report this to my superiors, and assure them that this matter of the position reports will be adjusted promptly.  And I’m afraid I must take my leave, as I am late already for a meeting at which I was expected some time ago.”

            “Where is Arnheiter now?”

            “Sitting in the guardhouse regretting his foolishness, I presume.”

            “Thank you for bringing it to my attention.”

            “Very well, Captain.”  _Obersturmführer_ Adelmann gathered up his briefcase and prepared to depart the office.  “Good day.”  He saluted, Army fashion, and was gone.

            Friedrich Arnheiter sat alone in a cell in the guardhouse, hoping against hope that Konrad had understood the gravity of the situation.  But how could he?  He did not know anything about _Herr Hauptmann_ ’s secret.  Only he, Arnheiter, knew what had happened those months ago.  It was up to him, and him alone, to protect Hauptmann Dietrich from the appalling danger that had arrived in the form of a suave SS officer who bore himself like a cat.  If Konrad had not understood, then it was all for nothing, as Dietrich would return to find out what was going on, and walk directly into the trap laid for him.  If he had understood, then he would have gotten the captain safely away out of danger, and the longer Arnheiter could put off the inevitable, the better Herr Hauptmann’s chances of escape.  That possibility was worth whatever price it would cost, even his own life, if it would buy time for the captain.

            He heard, dully, the sound of keys jangling.  The time had come, then.  They were coming to take him to the firing squad.  How could he stall them, make it take even longer?  The more time they spent on his punishment and execution, the more time Hauptmann Dietrich would have....

            His melancholy reverie was interrupted by sharp steps on the flagstones outside, and a familiar voice.  _Oh, no..._   It was the captain; seated on the bench, Arnheiter sank his head into his hands in despair. Konrad had failed him after all.

            “ _Um Gottes willen!_  What have you  done?”  Dietrich was furious.  “Why did you do such a ridiculous thing?” he demanded as the sergeant of the guard unlocked the door and released Arnheiter at the captain’s order.

            “I—I was afraid, _mein Herr_.”

            “I should think so!  Do you have any idea how near you came to being shot?”

            The corporal nodded his blond head.  “Yes, sir.  I intended it that way.”

            The illogic of this statement left Dietrich standing there dumbstruck.  “What?”

            “I wanted to give you time to get away!  Now he will capture you...” The clerk’s voice broke as he answered.  “I did my best, _mein Herr_ , I tried to protect you—”

            Dietrich dismissed the guard with a wave of his hand.  _Ich bin in falschen Film gegangen..._ “Protect me?  From  what?”  He shook his head, taken aback at Arnheiter’s anguish.  “He merely came to collect some reports, and he has gone. He wanted to know why our position reports have not been filed. Did you file them?”

            “Yes, of course…” This was impossible.  “Gone?  The officer has gone?”

            “Yes, he has.  Now what did you imagine he wanted?”

            “To arrest you, Herr Hauptmann,” the clerk said, awash in misery.

            “And why should he do that?”

            Arnheiter swallowed hard.  “Because of _Hauptsturmführer_ Wannsee…”

            It was a hot day, but an icy chill ran down Dietrich’s spine.  His voice became very quiet.  “How do you know about that?”  _Now I understand._

            “I heard you, _mein Herr_.”  The young clerk’s voice was equally soft.  “In the HQ tent, very late. I was working at the radio and you were asleep.  I heard what you were saying.”

            _Du lieber Gott_ , thought Dietrich.  “What did you hear, Arnheiter?”

            “You said, again and again, ‘I had to do it.  I had to do it.’  Then you said something about dishonor and shame, and a nurse and an unarmed man...”  He avoided Dietrich’s eyes as he spoke.

            “I see.”  That was not all, but it was enough.  Whatever had possessed him to talk in his sleep?  And Arnheiter had been guarding this secret for weeks...  “Very well.  We are going to go to my office and I am going to tell you exactly what happened, and why.  After this, neither you nor I shall ever speak of this matter again.  Do you understand me?”

            The younger man nodded.  “Yes, sir.  I understand.”

            For the next hour, they sat undisturbed in the office while Dietrich explained in full what Arnheiter had already deduced.  When the story was finished, the captain leaned forward and added, “I have told you this, Arnheiter, _unter vier Augen_.”  Beneath four eyes—in other words, the truth was between the two men who sat there, and no one else.  “Except for you, no one on earth knows about this.”

            “What about the Rat Patrol?”  Arnheiter asked, thoughtfully.

            “I doubt it.  Sergeant Moffitt was not looking in my direction, after all.  It is likely they believed it to be a stray bullet of their own.”  _Unless Troy is very clever indeed…_ On second thought, he considered, they probably  did know.  But it didn’t matter.  After all, whom would they tell? "But that leaves us with a problem.  The entire company now knows what you did. They must never find out why." He eyed his clerk with a mixture of exasperation and affection.  "So, what are we going to tell them?" _And what am I going to do with you, you young idiot? How do I punish you for having that much courage?  
_

            "I never thought I would be alive long enough to need a story," Arnheiter confessed, sheepishly.

       *****

            Slowly and cautiously, the Rat Patrol approached the location of the rendezvous.  “Uh-oh,” said Tully as he surveyed the scene.  “Sarge, it looks like we have company.  And not the kind you want to invite for tea, either.”  He pointed to the staff car raising a cloud of dust as it drove along the road toward their position.

            “Steady,” said Troy.  “Wait and see what happens.”  It came closer, and then stopped as the driver realized there were two .50 machine guns aimed directly at the windshield.  The door opened and the occupant got out of the car.  “Keep your hands where I can see them,” Troy called out.  “And throw down your weapons.”

            _“Hände hoch,”_ translated Moffitt in case their new prisoner didn’t understand English, and added, _“Waffen weg.”_

            He did so, throwing a pistol and his dagger carefully onto the ground.  “Good,” said Troy.  “No sudden moves, now.”  He motioned for Hitch and Tully to bring the prisoner.  “Tie him up.  I don’t want him getting loose.”

            “We gonna take him with us to the rendezvous, Sarge?”  Hitch frowned.

            “Looks that way.  Take care of it.”

            Presently the two privates returned, bringing the German between them.  Then Troy saw the SS runes on the tall man’s collar.  “You are behind enemy lines, you know,” the officer said in a tone of indignation.  “Spies!”

            “Yeah, something like that.”  Troy jerked a thumb to indicate that Hitch should put him in the front seat of the jeep where they could keep an eye on him.  “What are you doing?  What are you carrying with you?”

            “I am not required to give you any information besides my name, which is Adelmann.”

            Seeing that Moffitt was now holding the SS officer at gunpoint, Troy raised his binoculars to his eyes, still searching for any sign that their rendezvous would take place.  It was the right time, and the right place.  “What could have happened?  It was all arranged!”

            “Maybe the Scottish guy got lost, too.”  Tully was pouring water into both radiators while he had the chance.  “Like they say, it could happen to anybody.”  He set the empty jerry-can on the ground.

            “I say, fellows,” asked an unmistakably British voice from beside Troy’s left elbow, “would you happen to know the way to Inveraray?”

            Troy spun around so fast he nearly dropped his field glasses.  The SS officer was grinning boyishly with a twinkle in his blue eyes.  And he’d pronounced “Inveraray” just the way that Captain Fallon had told them... “Where in hell’s that?”  demanded the American sergeant.

            The man in the German uniform chuckled.  “Last time I checked, it was in Argyll.  On upper Loch Fyne, if you’d like to know.”  It was him all right...the double agent whose code name was ‘Cruachan’.

            “I’ll be a— How long were you going to just sit there?”

            “Until I was quite sure you were the chaps I was to meet.” He laughed aloud.  “Sergeant, I wish you could have seen your face—it was priceless.  Quite worth getting tied up for, what?”

            “Oh.  All right, then. Sorry, Lieutenant.  They didn’t tell us what you'd be wearing,” Troy explained.  “Tully, come here and untie him.”

            “Well, that was unplanned. I didn’t have time to change uniforms, you see.  The most extraordinary thing happened...” he said as Tully worked at the knots binding his hands behind his back.

            “You did get the photos, didn’t you, sir?”

            “Oh, quite.  It’s all there in my pocket, once I can get at it.”  He grinned.  “The last seven weeks’ worth of orders from Afrika Korps HQ to all the battalion and company commanders in the area, all captured on film.”  A cat locked in a creamery could not have looked more satisfied than the Scottish lieutenant did.

            “What happened?  You said...”

            “Yes.  It was the oddest thing.  I imagined I would have to visit five or six units before I would find someone careless enough to leave me alone in an office long enough to find the orders and take the pictures.  But I got lucky, in the very first company I visited.”

            “Yeah?  How’s that?”

            “I walked in, asked the clerk where the CO was, and he utterly refused to tell me!  I pressed him a bit more, and waved a few threats about, and the fellow told me to go to the devil!  Quite politely, I might add, but.... Well, there I was in a fix.  I threatened to have him shot—one must keep up appearances, after all—had him thrown in the guardhouse, sent the other chap away, and helped myself to the contents of the desk. All the while hoping like mad that the CO would turn up before I had to make good on the threats, you see.”  He shrugged, apologetic.  “I certainly wasn't about to execute a perfectly good clerk, simply for the sake of verisimilitude.”

            “Wonder what that was all about,”  Moffitt mused, frowning.  “Which company was it?”

            “Don't recall the number. One of the smaller ones in 3rd Panzer Recon,” replied the agent with a shrug.  “Company commander’s a tall, thin fellow by the name of ...ah, Dietrich.  Didn’t see much of him; he wasn’t there until I was about to leave.  He didn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary.”

            “Oho,” said Moffitt.  “The plot thickens.”

            “You know him, then?”

            “After a fashion.” 

            “Hmm.  I confess,” said the lieutenant, handing over the package of film, “I would like to know what there is about that austere-looking chap, that his company clerk would deliberately throw himself to the wolves in order to protect him.”  He shook his head.  “He really meant it, poor devil; he was entirely prepared to lay down his life as a delaying tactic.  Do you know, I think that may be the bravest thing I’ve ever seen a man do.”  The agent was silent for some moments, thinking.  “And I wonder just what that officer has been up to; why on earth would anyone imagine the SS wanted to arrest him?”

            Troy and Moffitt exchanged a long look; it was no mystery to them.  The American sergeant shrugged casually.  “Who knows?  Could be anything.  Come on, Lieutenant, let’s shake it.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> The British agent in this story, unnamed, is Paul Campbell-Wellington, who appears here courtesy of his creator, my dear friend Catriona (whose AO3 username is Ida Arminda Moss). If you have read my story The Nick of Time Raid, you have already met his twin sister Paula; both of them are in the service of Royal Navy Intelligence.
> 
> The only German expression which is not explained by its context is "Ich bin in falschen Film gegangen." It means, literally, "I've walked into the wrong movie," or roughly, "this can't be happening" or "I don't think we're in Kansas anymore."


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